Spring Death, and: Migrations, and: Dream of Tony

THREE POEMS by Russell Maraño SPRING DEATH The humanity of Europe drained into the sore of Torremolinos hungry for the healing sun. And I had drained with them. Spring broke me free. I drifted north with my healing tan through winding tips of almond blossoms to flowering Alicante, Valencia, Barcelona. And then into France. Looking out of the gemutlichkeit of a Swiss tavern spring crocuses pushed through patches of snow. I took a cab to Zurich, caught a plane to New York City, and flew south into Appalachia. Traces of green leading me home. My father, his twinkle gone, greeted me with damp softness and surprising warmth more like late Indian summer. For the first time, we shared two weeks of somber manhood. I left for Chicago, my sprightly tan following the trace of spring green. It was a warm day in April, tulips spiraling out of the earth, when I received the telegram. My father was dead. In the year of many springs my father was dead. 45 MIGRATIONS Italians were kicked from the sunny boot of Europe by hope and hunger. Some landed in the West Virginia hills to work coal mines. Some were buried in mine explosions, their bodies scattered through collapsed tunnels in towns like Monongah, named after American Indians. Many were maimed for life. A few remained in the hills to prosper. Some left empty, wind-filled hollow homes during the Second World War to find work in Detroit and Baltimore, towns named after the French and English. Now, their seed scattered, they die leaving a guitar, accordian and country Western songbook in empty, wind-filled city homes. DREAM OF TONY Last night during sweet repose, a yearned for cousin, Tony, drove me in his gleaming limousine out of tangled, brooding hills to join his city gang and war in packs on angry neoned streets. My awkward pride, inviting taunts, surged forth to prove its worth. My cousin held my arms. His luxurious black curls tossed and tumbled like storm clouds amidst his tongue's lightning cajolings. Suddenly, I was awakened by a summer storm. 46 Blacks and Whites at church meeting on Carr Creek in Knott County, Kentucky, 1936. Photo by Bruce Peters. 47 ...